


ni-chome

by sheelia



Series: natural forces [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Domestic, Friends to Lovers, Future, M/M, Slice of Life, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2015-08-18
Packaged: 2018-04-15 09:25:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4601580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheelia/pseuds/sheelia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>(<b>Oikawa</b> sent an image.)</i>
</p><p>“Are you done?” Iwaizumi groaned, feeling his arm grow sore. He wasn’t really good at this selfie thing.</p><p>“Ok, ok. One more, in a different pose,” Oikawa turned his body the other way and held the thousand yen notes beside his face. “Say cheese, Iwa-chan!”</p><p>Iwaizumi sighed, then in a voice reminiscent of a thirteen year-old Iwaizumi grumbling to his mother about what he wanted for breakfast, he said, “<i>Cheese</i>.”</p><p> <br/>(In which Iwaizumi and Oikawa spend two months in Tokyo, among other things.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	ni-chome

**Author's Note:**

> I could read a million permutations of friends to lovers iwaoi and still be happy. God bless.  
> You can listen to the playlist I listened to while I wrote this [ here](http://8tracks.com/plaire/ni-chome).

**OIKAWA, IWAIZUMI**

2-14-5-203 Kabukicho

Shinjuku-ku, Tokyo 160-0021

 

Iwaizumi found himself staring at the apartment nameplate for an indefinite amount of time. How long had he been standing there? 10 seconds? 10 minutes? He couldn't tell. Time had started to blend into one another like a seamless piece of fabric. Less than 24 hours ago, he was on stage at his commencement ceremony, receiving his graduation certificate. This too, felt unreal.

The nameplate was just a piece of paper with Oikawa's handwriting, slotted into a clear vinyl holder just above the doorbell. Underneath the doorbell, sitting comfortably on the floor, was a pot of violet hydrangeas, kindly given to them by the landlady. She had passed it into Oikawa's hands, patting them close to fifteen times as she wished him the best of luck in finding employment. With Oikawa's hands full, she dropped the keys to their apartment in Iwaizumi's palm with little regard. Hopefully, the plant would live longer than the two months of their intended stay in Tokyo.

"Iwa-chaaaaan," he heard a loud whine coming from inside the house.

That's right. He glanced down at the cardboard box in his arms. They were unpacking.

He pushed open the ajar door with his foot and set the box down on the floor next to the door. By virtue of their short stay they only required enough clothing to last them two months, as well as other household necessities that didn't come with the partially furnished apartment. And so, with a grand total of 2 suitcases, and 4 smaller cardboard boxes, moving hadn't been much of an issue.

"Help," Oikawa called out helplessly when he heard Iwaizumi pad into the kitchen. There were styrofoam cups scattered around his feet — thank god nothing was broken — and Oikawa had one hand on the handle of the overhead cupboard, where Iwaizumi presumed the cups had fallen out of. And a hand on the opened fridge door. And a foot holding up a box that had fallen off the counter, unsteadily held in place by his foot, which was pressing it against the drawers.

Iwaizumi didn't even want to ask _how_.

"Mm. Nope," he weighed his options. "I think I'm going to leave you like this." He whipped out his phone from his back pocket to snap a picture.

_( **Iwaizumi** sent an image.)_

**Iwaizumi (11.03 A.M.)** : I let him out of my sight for a few minutes and this happens.

"Come ooon, my arms hurt," Oikawa threw his head back at an awkward angle, pleading with his eyes.

By then, Iwaizumi was sitting on the sofa. He threw his phone to the side and stumbled to his feet, then walked back to the kitchen. He first lifted the cardboard box off Oikawa's foot. Oikawa sighed in relief in response as he planted both feet on the floor. Iwaizumi pushed back the bags sticking out of the overhead drawer, allowing Oikawa to let go of the handle and close the fridge door.

Squatting on the floor as they picked up the styrofoam cups and stacked them together, Oikawa said, "Even though you're mean to me, I guess you're okay. Like 15% of the time. You could be better, but I'm not complaining."

Iwaizumi pushed himself up, hands on his knees, feeling the onset of old age even though he's yet to turn 22. "Me and you," it comes out as a familiar chuckle, "One more adventure to add to the book. Your literal scrapbook, which is a bit embarrassing, to be honest."

"Iwa-chan! Take that back! My scrapbook is a gift to this world."

They plopped onto the sofa and sunk into the suede cushions. There's no coffee table, sadly. Nor a foot rest. Iwaizumi used one of the cardboard boxes instead. It didn't matter how pathetic it looked as long as it fulfilled its functional purpose.

Iwaizumi's phone screen lit up with messages rolling in. Oikawa bent over to take a closer look, unlocking Iwaizumi's phone with his very obvious and lame password (his birthday), and then, he let out a loud gasp, feeling betrayed.

 **Matsukawa (11.15 A.M.)** : RIP Oikawa

 **Kindaichi (11.15 A.M.)** : HAHAHA

 **Hanamaki (11.16 A.M.)** : iwaizumi u dead

 **Kunimi (11.17 A.M.)** : my condolences

●

Their first order of business was, according to Oikawa’s hilariously "thought-out" plan, to find part-time employment.

"Someone once told me 'There's only one Paris when you're 19'," Oikawa had said two months earlier. Iwaizumi stood at the door of his dorm room, hands folded and back against the wooden door frame, watching Oikawa put on his socks. They had bold red and yellow stripes — Iwaizumi recalled them with vivid clarity.

"Except that you're 22. And you've chosen Tokyo," Iwaizumi states dryly, a little amused.

Oikawa pulled the socks to his mid-calves, then waddled over to the door where his boots were. The winter was especially cold this year.

"So, what do you say, Iwa-chan?" Oikawa said as he kneeled down to tie the laces. "One last adventure. Just the two of us."

Iwaizumi scoffed, "What do you mean _one last adventure_. I'm not dying, Shittykawa."

"Noo, Iwa-chan, I didn't mean that! We're graduating in less than two months. And then we're going to become boring old people with boring jobs and boring lives, who live in boring houses with boring food inside their fridges. Like cucumbers. Ick."

Iwaizumi sighed. He could have sworn that he had breathed out a puff of white mist.

"I'll think about it. Lemme ask my mom."

"Iwa-chan, almost 22 and still asking his mother for permission. How— AH IWA-CHAN, LET GO OF MY HAIR!"

Their neighborhood looked pretty dead to Iwaizumi. The inner alleys were practically empty, save for the occasional vans that drove through to take a shortcut. When they reached the main street it was marginally better. There were several convenience stores along the way. Shops had faded and gross looking signs. Only when they were approaching Shinjuku station did the place begin to liven up. They passed by many clothing stores and fast food joints. Iwaizumi made a mental note of all the eateries they passed by for future reference. Maybe they would stop by later at one of them for lunch.

Oikawa was skipping in front of him, humming a song that Iwaizumi had never heard before. Probably some Top 40 trash, knowing him. Iwaizumi would probably be lying to himself if he said he wasn't feeling happy either. The hands stuffed down his jacket pockets released its grip on an imaginary object, and Iwaizumi felt his shoulders let go of the tension he hadn't realized was there. Visiting Tokyo and _living_ in Tokyo felt like two completely different things, he had to give it that.

They walked along the big department stores that were built over the station until they passed underneath one of the overhead tracks. They were now walking past the south end of the station, toward the taller buildings further ahead. Iwaizumi had to check if they were walking in the direction at least twice to make sure they wouldn't get lost.

After another ten minutes of walking, they reached a nice, new office building — Iwaizumi could tell from the type of tiles they used: matte grey tiles, some even with hints of glitter that shone under the sun, as compared to older buildings which used porcelain-like tiles. The building had a small atrium on the ground floor with a few sparse benches at the corners. There was an odd pair of escalators in the middle, and Iwaizumi had to wonder how they worked in the rain.

They took the escalator up, which led them to an office lobby. Afterwards, they headed into one of the elevators and it took them up to the tenth floor, which was where the part-time employment agency was located. Iwaizumi had brought photocopies of his identification card, as well as his school certificates. However, the supervisor on duty then just laughed at him. Shocked and slightly dumbfounded, he returned the clear folder into his sling bag. They had the two of them fill in a simple registration form. Basic stuff like his name, age, educational background and address.

He glanced over at Oikawa when he was done filling in his form and choked on his spit when he noticed a dark squiggle in one of the boxes, because Oikawa had spelt his name wrong.

●

Iwaizumi looked down at the food in front of him, placed on their makeshift coffee table. Two katsu sandwiches, which had just been heated in the microwave, four rice balls, each with different toppings, and two cans of cheap beer.

Oikawa pulled back the aluminium tab on his can, which released a soft hiss. Iwaizumi could imagine the bubbles rising to the surface.

"Here's to the start of our not boring lives!" Oikawa exclaimed. Iwaizumi raised his can of beer and clinked it against Oikawa's.

They kind of blew most of their money on the rent, but with the part-time employment starting soon, they'd be able to start eating nicer food.

Oikawa held up his phone to snap a quick picture of the both of them, making sure that the ugly cardboard box was in the frame. Mid meal, he disappeared into his room to retrieve his laptop. He had assembled a list of places to visit while they were in Tokyo, having bookmarked them earlier on TripAdvisor.

"If you ask me, Oikawa, this looks exactly like what a boring adult would do. Doing research. Planning itineraries," Iwaizumi rested his chin on his fist, but he was careful not to put too much weight on the cardboard box in case it collapsed.

Oikawa sucked in a long breath, " _Oh my god_. No."

He closed his eyes and wildly scrolled up and down the page, before stopping his cursor over an item on the list. He chimed in the same sing-song voice he’d been using since he was a kid, “I betcha grown-ups don’t make decisions like this.”

●

"I can't fall asleep," Oikawa sounded muffled through Iwaizumi's half open door. He clawed dumbly at the wooden door, producing a soft noise.

Iwaizumi was, similarly, awake. He had been boring holes into the ceiling with his eyes for the past one, two hours, probably. "Me neither, ugh."

He kicked his blanket off him and stumbled toward his suitcase, digging around for a pair of sweatpants to wear over his boxers.

“Let’s go for a walk.”

●

“ _Um_.”

“Iwa-chan I can explain,” Oikawa chuckled nervously, his grip on Iwaizumi’s arm growing tighter.

They had turned out of the small alley leading into the main street, which they had presumed to be as dead as it was that morning. Iwaizumi looked down at his striped sweatpants and the t-shirt he had owned since he was 16. And also at Oikawa’s ALIENS MOTHERFUCKER print tee.

“Oh, I’d love to hear you explain,” Iwaizumi grumbled, finding himself unable to move his feet, automatically feeling self-conscious in a sea of people.

“I mean, well, since we’re already here and people have already seen us… Might as well continue, right?” Oikawa eased into a bashful grin, which made Iwaizumi jab his waist with his flat palm.

“IWA-CHAN!”

Having this many neon street lights shine in his face at fucking two in the morning cemented the fact that he was definitely not going to be able to fall asleep that night. Terrific. Maybe the light would blind him and bleach all his photoreceptors and they’ll have to take him back to Miyaji and he’ll live in his parents’ home forever, tucked away from walking hazards like Oikawa Tooru.

The both of them walked rather slowly, so they ended up being pushed to the side of the pavement where they wouldn’t impede the flow of the crowd. Oikawa pulled out his phone from his pant pocket and typed into Google: _Why are there so many nightclubs in 2-chome shinjuku_.

They were coincidentally standing outside one of the clubs that had a small staircase leading to the front door, which was located in the basement. From his spot, he could hear the thumping of music reverberate through the cement and up his legs. The bouncer was staring at him with beady eyes. Iwaizumi tried hard to not squirm.

Beside him, Oikawa snorted, “Ok Iwa-chan.... _What if_ I told you that we’re staying in the gay district. What if? Wait Iwa-chan why are you opening your eyes so wide?”

●

Iwaizumi scrubbed his face with his palm, wishing he had gotten more than three hours of sleep. Oikawa, on the other hand, was casually flirting with the elevator attendant — a cute, young lady who couldn’t have been older than 25 — except that in order to maintain a semblance of professionalism she stared right past Oikawa, pretending that he wasn’t even there.

Following Oikawa’s casual finger pointing at his computer screen the day before, the first place they visited in Tokyo was the Metropolitan Government Building, located nearby in Shinjuku. They got off at the 45th floor and headed straight to the large windows on the observation deck.

“Isn’t it fascinating?” Oikawa started, his face pressed so close to the glass that it was enough to leave a white patch. “The way everything starts to look like toys when you’re this far away?”

Iwaizumi leaned closer. From this height everything looked so still and calm, as if in the eye of a storm. The breeze up here was something that couldn’t be heard, but felt from somewhere deep within.

“Poke poke,” Oikawa grinned, using his finger to nudge the people on the ground. They looked like miniature dolls from this height. “Look Iwa-chan, I’m making them move.”

Deciding, for once, that he’d humor Oikawa, Iwaizumi crouched next to him and did the same to an unsuspecting person.

“Iwa-chan you brute! You made him fall over!” Oikawa screamed in his ear, attracting the attention of the other tourists.

●

**[ONE-TIME JOB] Survey @ Chuo Ward, ¥800/h, 4 hours**

Iwaizumi stared down at the text message from the part-time employment agency and decided, why not?

They stopped by the Shinjuku office to pick up survey sheets and stationery, as well as receive instructions for the job. Apparently, they were supposed to observe the kinds of people that frequented a particular departmental store and write down the ages on the grid paper provided. The pudgy supervisor handed them all this in a nondescript brown envelope and sent them on their way.

“Do we actually have to talk to people?” Oikawa asked. He was hanging onto two of those triangular handles on the train bars, dangling like a monkey. At 10 a.m. the train was almost empty, so it explained how Oikawa had so much space to fool around.

“They didn’t explicitly tell us to…” Iwaizumi replied as he scanned the three sentences of instructions printed on the piece of paper. “You know what let’s just guess.”

“Yes, Iwa-chan! That’s what irresponsible adults like us do! Nice thinking,” cheered Oikawa, who, one week into their little adventure, was still set on the whole not-growing-up thing. He took a long whiff of the air. “By the way, the trains in Tokyo smell different.”

Iwaizumi turned to Oikawa and pursed his lips together in a thin line, giving him the straightest face he could muster. He opened his mouth to say, “No, they don’t”, but found it hard to deny that he did try to breathe the air into his mouth. As far as he knew, Tokyo subway air tasted the same as it did back home.

Oikawa continued swinging on the handholds like an unsupervised child, and Iwaizumi, the defeated parent. Somewhere along the line Oikawa started slapping at his left bicep, physically trying to will back feeling into his left arm.

●

At Ginza, they shuffled over the entrance of the department store to find a place where they could sit for the next four hours. It was either a) at one of those outdoor cafes that only served overpriced coffee, or b) on one of the low brick walls that lined the raised flowerbeds, strategically located near the entrance.

Well. Iwaizumi hoped that they didn’t look suspicious, and prayed that no one would call the police or something.

“Since you’re so oblivious, I’ll just do the guessing for both of us,” Oikawa waved his hand dismissively in Iwaizumi’s face. He pulled out the bottle of sparkling melon juice from his bag and sipped it through the straw in the bottle.

Iwaizumi grunted, then arranged the sheets on his lap so that it balanced nicely.

“Twelve… No, sixteen… No, twelve,” Oikawa drummed his fingers on his cheek.

Iwaizumi seethed at the scratch marks on his grid sheet, “Can you _please—_ ”

“Fine. Fourteen,” Oikawa figured it was close enough.

Somewhere a little after noon Oikawa’s stomach started growling, so Iwaizumi dashed across the street to pick up some food, fearing the worst if he should leave Oikawa alone for extended periods of time. He returned with a box of bucket of fried chicken and a can of coke to share.

“Forty. Thirty-five. Fifty-tcch,” Oikawa made a large, slobbery sucking sound as he tried to suck up the last bit of meat on the bone. “And make sure the numbers look random, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi grunted again, scribbling down the ages with his non-oily hand.

Oikawa held an umbrella between them to shade them from the harsh sunlight, unconsciously tilting the umbrella more and more over to Iwaizumi’s side. Iwaizumi had to push Oikawa’s umbrella holding hand further away from him once in a while.

●

_( **Oikawa** sent an image.)_

“Are you done?” Iwaizumi groaned, feeling his arm grow sore. He wasn’t really good at this selfie thing.

“Ok, ok. One more, in a different pose,” Oikawa turned his body the other way and held the thousand yen notes beside his face. “Say cheese, Iwa-chan!”

Iwaizumi sighed, then in a voice reminiscent of a thirteen year-old Iwaizumi grumbling to his mother about what he wanted for breakfast, he said, “ _Cheese_.”

He tossed the phone back to Oikawa after he finished stuffing the money into his wallet.

They were walking back to their apartment in Shinjuku ( _Oh_ , 2-chome. Iwaizumi still couldn’t get over that.) when Oikawa pulled Iwaizumi’s arm and pointed to a small alley entrance lined with shrubbery. There seemed to be a small path that ran parallel to the main street.

“Let’s go here,” he urged.

Iwaizumi placidly trudged along, falling into pace with Oikawa walking next to him. As much as he disagreed with Oikawa on basically everything, he couldn’t imagine a life without him. It would be too simple, too easy.

The tall buildings that flanked the narrow path shielded them from most of the sunlight, steeping them in a kind of coolness that pressed against them underneath all their clothing. The abundance of plant life drenched the area in a calm, blue-green hue.

“This is nice,” Iwaizumi breathed out as he surveyed his surroundings.

“Yeah,” Oikawa replied, slowing his pace so he could take it all in.

The phone in Iwaizumi’s phone vibrated, as did Oikawa’s.

_( **Matsukawa** sent an image.)_

Iwaizumi squinted at his phone screen. “Matsukawa sent a screenshot of his bank account balance.”

**Oikawa (4:45 PM)** : despicable

●

“Iwa-chan, try your best to act like a gay man. Okay?” Oikawa wound an arm around Iwaizumi’s, using his other to smooth down the creases in his pink dress shirt.

“Tell me again why you’re the one in the dress shirt, and I’m the one with a feather boa around my neck?”

“Gah Iwa-chan we made a deal remember? You take the feather boa and I take the glitter wristband,” Oikawa shook his wrist, making obnoxious clinking sounds.

Iwaizumi felt like a clown. An honest, I-have-no-control-over-my-life clown. He unwound the feather boa and stuffed it down the nearest bin, and then suffered the complaints of “100 yen gone down the drain”.

And of all the nightclubs in the area, Oikawa had to choose the one with the beady-eyed bouncer. Oikawa smiled bright enough to rival the blinding neon signs behind him. The bouncer did a once-over of their identification cards, and upon seeing Oikawa’s grip tighten around Iwaizumi’s arm, he hesitantly let them in.

The neon pink lighting bathed the entire room in a soft rose glow. The furniture was sleek and it reminded Iwaizumi off those American googie-themed establishments in the 60s. He couldn’t help seeing everything in pairs: booths meant for couples along the walls, pairs of decorations, and couples on the dancefloor, spinning in circles. Even he and Oikawa were a pair.

At the bar counter he found two empty stools, the leather slightly worn from years of use but otherwise comfortable.

“Just beer please,” Oikawa told the bartender, who later swung them two large mugs.

They had just started getting a feel for the place when they suddenly heard someone shout, “I KNOW YOU.”

Iwaizumi glanced to his side to see a lean, young man who looked just as surprised as he was. His hair was dyed platinum blond to the roots, and in the light his eyes looked rose gold.

“Great King Oikawa Tooru,” chimed the voice behind him, and Iwaizumi leaned his body forward to get a glimpse of the guy, who was pointing at Oikawa was the fattest, most self-satisfied grin. His neck was flushed pink, but his face looked normal. Maybe 30% sober.

“Who? Me?” Oikawa leaned forward, a deadweight pressing on Iwaizumi’s back.

The blond flicked the other’s forehead with a finger and the man winced, cradling his head as he shook it. It couldn’t have been that painful. Maybe 25% sober.

“Don’t mind him. He’s thinks talking about his high school days makes him feel younger,” the blond deadpanned, giving off the impression that he had dealt with this behavior for a long time.

Iwaizumi took a sip of beer, finding himself at a loss for words.

“You know us?” Oikawa asked.

“Yeah, those Karasuno brats used to talk about you guys all the time,” the man on the far end cracked a smile. “Kuroo,” he said, pointing to himself. Then, pointing at the blond, “Kenma.”

He continued, “We were from Nekoma.”

Iwaizumi eased into a embarrassed smile, “Sorry, I never heard—”

“You guys together or what?” Kuroo asked, pointing between the two of them with an eyebrow raised.

Caught by surprise, Iwaizumi tightened his grip around the mug handle.

“No.”

“Yes.”

He turned behind to eye Oikawa, who looked like a deer in the headlights, before turning back to reaffirm, “No.”

Kenma propped up his head with his hand and eyed the both of them, “Mm hm.”

●

**[ONE-TIME JOB] Supermarket Assistant, Shinjuku. ¥750/h, 8h.**

“I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to be eating those,” Iwaizumi chided. He used his free hand to slap the back of Oikawa’s hand.

“Ow,” Oikawa winced for a moment, then reached for another prawn cracker in his tray. “Free samples are free, Iwa-chan. For anybody and everybody. Including you. And also, me.”

Oikawa gleefully munched on the crackers while he looked at Iwaizumi guilelessly.

Iwaizumi felt ridiculous with the apron around his torso.

_( **Oikawa** sent an image.)_

**Kunimi (10:20 A.M.)** : wow hot

 **Hanamaki (10:20 A.M.)** : so domestic

Oikawa sighed, inspecting the glitter on his left arm, “The glitter on that tacky wristband won’t come off my skin.”

He held the tray of prawn crackers out in front of him for people to grab, but he was wholly invested in his conversation with Iwaizumi.

“I still feel kind of bad that we had no idea who they were,” Iwaizumi confessed. He cleared his throat and deepened his voice, “Hi! Would you like to try some prawn crackers?”

Oikawa hummed, drifting away in thought, “But it brings back nice memories, doesn’t it? Volleyball. Intolerable Karasuno.”

“To think _Grand King Oikawa Tooru_ knows what _Intolerable_ means,” Iwaizumi scoffed.

Yeah, good memories.

●

Sometimes Iwaizumi wakes up to find Oikawa already awake and out on the balcony, sitting on the only off-white vinyl lounge chair in the apartment. More often than not he would be taking his breakfast, a steaming cup of coffee and a slice of burnt toast resting on the cardboard “coffee table”, which he had dragged outside with him.

Iwaizumi would stand soundlessly at the mouth of the hallway.

The first time he saw him like this, he couldn’t understand it. Living on the second floor afforded them a shitty view of the alley below them. All there was across them was a brick wall. The second time, he saw Oikawa’s hand over his bad knee, and he could tell he was squeezing it because he could see the movement in his arm muscles.

“Morning, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa smiled, nice and slow. It happened again this morning. Oikawa took a small sip of his coffee, his body half swivelled around as he regarded Iwaizumi from his spot on the balcony.

Iwaizumi swallowed thickly, “Yeah. Morning, Oikawa.”

●

“Do you want to go to the supermarket with me?” Oikawa asked, throwing up his keys in the air and catching it. “I’m feeling _Italian_ tonight.”

Iwaizumi had his eyes furrowed, twiddling on his phone with his two thumbs. “Give me fifteen minutes. I’m trying to teach Kunimi integration via text message.”

He mumbled a soft “fuck” every time he had to hit the backspace button.

“I think I’ll just go myself. Be back real quick,” Oikawa said. He heard Iwaizumi grumble an okay as he closed the front door.

Oikawa took the route through the alleyway park to get to the nearest supermarket. In the evening there were slightly more people walking through that path, but it somehow managed to retain its peace, the thick concrete walls flanking it drowned out most of the city noise.

At the supermarket, he picked up a packet of spaghetti and minced meat, then made a beeline for the sauces aisle. Pasta for dinner sounded like a good idea. It should be appetizing enough to entice Iwaizumi to cook for the both of them.

Turning into the sauces aisle, he spotted the same platinum blond hair he had seen just a few days ago.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Oikawa chuckled, ambling towards the cans and jars of tomato sauce.

Kenma quirked an eyebrow and directed his gaze to the dirty cardboard boxes stacked up in the corner, “Yeah. Fancy.”

He could feel Kenma’s eyes on him the entire time he was shuffling jars around as he decided on which flavor to take home. It was heavy and unsettling. And then it came out of nowhere, “When are you going to tell Iwaizumi that you love him?”

He unconsciously released the grip on his glass jar of tomato sauce, and it thankfully dropped into the basket he was carrying on his other arm.

“What?” Oikawa asked, surprised. He barely knew this guy, and yet he—

“I can tell from the way you look at him,” Kenma continued, unperturbed about how odd the entire situation was. He weighed two jars of two different sauces in each hand, trying to decide which was heavier.

“I,” Oikawa stuttered in an attempt to hide his poorly disguised panic, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

●

Iwaizumi was lying on his chest over the sofa when he heard the front door creak open. His eyes were burning from typing that many numbers and alphabets and brackets in multiple text messages. He grunted a hello into the suede cushion.

Behind him, he heard the plop of a plastic bag on the dining table, followed by a series of heavy pants.

Iwaizumi rolled over into a sitting position to face Oikawa, whose face was flushed, sweat dripping down his neck.

“What the fuck did you do?” He asked, slightly concerned. Oikawa’s fringe was sticking against his forehead.

Oikawa gave himself a few seconds to catch his breath, “I thought about how hungry Iwa-chan must be, so I ran back here before you starved to death.” He panted some more. “And I was right, wasn’t I?”

Iwaizumi grumbled as he pushed himself up on his feet and trudged into the kitchen, picking up the ingredients on his way there. “You idiot. Don’t do that again.”

Oikawa sat at the table with his palms cradling his face as he watched Iwaizumi prepare dinner, feeling contented with the way things were.

●

“Iwa-chan! Your face isn’t in the shot! Again!” Oikawa shouted, shoving his phone into Iwaizumi’s chest.

Iwaizumi fumbled with the phone in his hands until he managed to open up the camera app. He mumbled, slightly disgruntled, “If you’re so good at it why don’t you take the picture instead?”

“Because you just stand in pictures like a block of wood, Iwa-chan. So boring,” Iwaizumi watched Oikawa pout through the phone screen and he gaze slid to meet Oikawa’s. “And make sure you get the cherry blossoms in the back too!”

They’re in Shinjuku Gyoen on a bright and early Wednesday morning. Perfect timing for the cherry blossom season in Tokyo. The flowers were of a pastel pink, and from far away they looked as pure as snow.

_( **Matsukawa** sent an image.)_

Iwaizumi squinted at the photo on his screen, in which both Matsukawa and Hanamaki were standing in front of the cherry blossoms in Miyagi, imitating Oikawa and Iwaizumi’s poses.

**Oikawa (9:20 A.M.)** : 1/10 for originality

 **Hanamaki (9:21 A.M.)** : really? i would say we’re better than the original

Iwaizumi gave a belated chuckle, returning his phone to his back pocket. It felt nice, like a fond kind of warmth pooling in the pit of his stomach, to know that despite the distance their friendship never wavered.

They walked along one of the winding gravel paths to get to the larger lawn in the center of the park. The sunlight painted shadows of the leaves on the path, swaying ever so slightly with every passing breeze. If Iwaizumi concentrated long enough, he could picture himself standing over an ocean.

●

They settled on a patch of grass underneath a large tree. Oikawa dragged the plastic bag between them on the ground, pulling out some rice balls they had purchased at Lawson on the way here.

“When did you last call your mom?” Iwaizumi asked in between bites with his mouth full of rice, “Your mom’s been complaining to my mom, and my mom’s been complaining to me. Even indirectly you cause me grief.”

Oikawa waved a hand, “Okay, fine. I’ll call her tonight. If I remember. Don’t remind me Iwa-chan!” He reached over to poke Iwaizumi’s bulging cheek, “You look like a hamster.”

Iwaizumi continued to chew grumpily, not bothering to smile even as Oikawa took a picture.

It’s long after they’ve finished their meal when they begin to see children running on the field. They were playing catch with their father — a pudgy but otherwise honest looking man, who chased after them with a bright smile.

Oikawa caught Iwaizumi staring, his eyes following every subtle movement. His knees were pulled towards his chest and his arms wrapped around his legs. This sitting position made his shirt crease and fold. From the back, Oikawa could see the ends of his dress shirt starting to untuck itself from his pants.

“Do you ever think about it?” He’s suddenly aware that Iwaizumi was talking to him. His eyes were on Oikawa now, waiting for his reply.

“About what?”

“A family,” Iwaizumi answered in the same beat. He returned his gaze back to the children, eyes following the paths traced by the red and blue caps on their heads.

Oikawa used his foot to brush over the grass under his feet. “Not really, no.” Then, after a few seconds, “You?”

“Yeah… A family. It would be nice,” Iwaizumi hummed pensively. “Maybe two kids.”

In Oikawa’s head he thought of Iwaizumi’s family: Iwaizumi, standing off-centre, with his arm around the waist of his faceless wife, and beside them, their two faceless children, each adorning a red and blue cap respectively. And it somehow morphed into something vile, tainted with his own selfishness.

Oikawa held his breath.

“I need to use the bathroom real quick,” he hurriedly pushed himself to his feet, dusting off the small pieces of grass sticking to his pants.

In the bathroom, Oikawa gripped the sides of the sink with his hands. He was alone in there and he felt grateful for it. He sucked in a deep breath and splashed some water on his face, then looked into the mirror to confront whatever he saw in his reflection. He recalled Kenma’s piercing stare and imagined them boring into the back of his head as he sped out of the supermarket that day.

He looked into the mirror and underneath that heaving, breathing mess, he saw a liar.

●

**[ONE-TIME JOB] Public Transport Safety Campaign Mascot, Ueno, ¥1200/h. 4 h.**

“What the fuck,” Iwaizumi grunted as he tripped over his own feet up the stairs.

Oikawa leaned over to whisper into the tiny hole in Iwaizumi’s costume, “No cursing in front of the children, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi felt twice as heavy in his train costume, and it didn’t help that he couldn’t see his feet. Or anything, for that matter. “I swear when I get out of this I’m going to strangle you. Why am I the one in the costume and you get to dress as the train conductor?”

Oikawa waved to the crowd of children before the stage.

“Because the shorter one has to put on the costume,” Iwaizumi knew Oikawa was rubbing it in. He clenched his fists as the next best alternative to physical expressions of affection. _I’m doing it for the money_ , he chanted to himself over and over like a mantra.

“Now, Train-san!” Oikawa screamed into the microphone. The children screamed back at him. “Let’s dance!”

_( **Oikawa** sent a video.)_

**Kunimi (5:10 P.M.)** : HAHAHAHAHAHA

 **Kunimi (5:10 P.M.)** : i need to send this to my parents, and my siblings, and my cousins, and basically everybody i know

 **Iwaizumi (5:12 P.M.)** : I did it for the money

 **Matsukawa (5:13 P.M.)** : iwaizumi u slut

●

Iwaizumi roused from his sleep to the sound of an alarm. His eyes were not yet open, and his brain wasn’t yet functioning at maximum capacity, but he recognized the song from somewhere. Lots of loud bops and males screaming. Probably j-rock. It took several half-hearted slaps around his bedside dresser to realize that the sound was neither coming from his alarm clock, nor his phone.

Stumbling out of his room as he cursed under his breath, he made his way to Oikawa’s room down the hall and realized that his door was left ajar. Oikawa’s phone was vibrating vigorously on his table, but Oikawa was nowhere in sight.

Iwaizumi popped by the bathroom. Nope.

At the mouth of the hallway he peered over at the balcony. Nope.

Slightly disorientated and still half-awake, he figured that there was no point going back to bed.

On the kitchen counter he spotted a bright blue post-it that said:

  * _Going out for a run! Realized I haven’t exercised in weeks :o I made you breakfast too. Enjoy, Iwa-chan!_




Iwaizumi glanced at the conspicuously placed banana next to the note. He sighed, somewhat fondly. He should have known what Oikawa meant when he said he’d prepare breakfast.

He picked up the banana and peeled it as he walked to the living room, smacking the post-it on the wall of the fridge on his way there.

It was around half an hour later when Oikawa returned, announcing his return by the jangling of keys at the front door. He pushed the door open and burst into a smile, the sweat on his face gleaming in the morning light.

“Wow. Sexy,” he commented as he slipped his shoes off, leering obnoxiously at Iwaizumi, who was leaning back on the sofa as he channel surfed.

“What,” he replied eloquently. He glanced down and it suddenly dawned upon him that he hadn’t put on a shirt.

Oikawa collapsed next to him on the sofa. His skin was flushed, even across his thighs, and it spread across him like a rosy blush. Naturally, he leaned over to rest his head in the crook of Iwaizumi’s neck, clucking distastefully at whatever was on the television at that exact moment.

“A documentary on farming. Why, Iwa-chan? Why?”

Iwaizumi shifted in his seat. Oikawa’s warmth was making him feel too warm. “Get off me, Shittykawa. You’re all sweaty and gross.”

In response, Oikawa pressed his face closer.

●

Against his better judgement, Iwaizumi allowed Oikawa to convince him to visit the bar again. They slid into a large booth — it was unusually empty that day — and were sipping on their cocktails when two familiar faces stopped at the mouth of their booth, grinning.

“What a coincidence,” Kuroo grinned, sliding into the patent leather seats uninvitedly.

Well, Iwaizumi didn’t mind.

Iwaizumi wiggled further into the semi-circle seat until he was right next to Oikawa, so that Kenma had enough space to sit. Kuroo beckoned a waiter over to order two pints of beer.

They chatted for a bit, talking about how it was going to get warmer in a few weeks. From the bits of information Iwaizumi gleaned from their conversation, he learnt that 1) Nekoma never made to nationals in their year, 2) Kuroo and Kenma have known each other since forever, and 3) They were currently in a relationship.

Well, that’s two out of three in common.

Kuroo pulled out a deck of cards from the inside of his bomber jacket like a magician. Iwaizumi slid his gaze over to Kenma, who didn’t look the least bit impressed.

“Let’s play a game of _Cheat_ ,” Kuroo said as he emptied the deck of cards from its box and started to shuffle. He went on as he dealt the cards, “You know how it works, right?”

Iwaizumi nodded.

He picked up his cards and spread them out like a fan. Crap cards. Ugh.

“Don’t look at my cards you cheater!” Oikawa whined, elbowing Iwaizumi in the waist.

“I wasn’t, you idiot,” he replied.

Kenma put down two cards faced down, “Two Eights.”

Kuroo nimbly picked a card from the middle of his deck, “One Eight.”

“One Nine,” Iwaizumi pulled out a card and placed it at the top of his deck.

Oikawa drummed on the side of his cheek for a long while, then, finally, “One Ten.”

“Cheat!” Iwaizumi called, knowing how Oikawa was when he’s being obvious.

Yet Oikawa smirked confidently, and the dreadful feeling started rising up his throat. “Go ahead and check, Iwa-chan.”

The turned the cards over and sighed when he realized it had indeed been a Ten. On the other hand—

“Kenma, you didn’t even put down Two Eights! What the hell.”

Kenma shrugged, pretending not to know a thing. Under the table Iwaizumi heard a soft slap, which he presumed was Kenma giving Kuroo a high five.

Ten minutes later, Iwaizumi ended up with both hands filled with cards, each deck in its own annoying looking fan. Kenma, on the other hand, just had one card left.

When it came to his turn, he said dryly, without a single change in his expression, “One Queen.”

“CHEAT,” Iwaizumi seethed because there could be no fucking way he’d be that lucky.

Kenma, resting his chin on his palm, asked, “You sure?”

Iwaizumi sighed at his two fans of cards, “Yeah sure just fuck me up.”

Kenma turned over his card to reveal a Queen, then took a long swig of beer.

“I don’t understand how you’re so good at this game,” Iwaizumi grumbled as he tried to insert his newly acquired cards into one of his hands.

Kenma put his mug down and stared blankly across the table at Oikawa, gaze transparent, “Some of us are just good at lying through our teeth.”

●

“What do you think?” Oikawa spun himself around to give Iwaizumi a 360 of his outfit.

Iwaizumi looked up from his phone and gave Oikawa a once over, “Those jeans look a bit casual, don’t you think?”

Oikawa thought about it for a second, then started shucking his pants off in the middle of the living room. “You’re right. To think I’m receiving fashion advice from Iwa-chan, of all people.”

He flung the pair of distressed jeans over the arm of the sofa, then sped back into his bedroom to find a more formal pair of pants.

To celebrate the end of their first month in Tokyo, they decided to splurge on a nice meal in Akasaka. A continental buffet in the lobby of a four-star hotel. Oikawa almost tipped over trying to count the number of chandeliers hanging off the ceiling.

“Iwa-chan, can you not display those coupons so obviously,” Oikawa muttered under his breath, stretching his hand across the white tablecloth as far as he could reach to swat near Iwaizumi’s hand.

Iwaizumi might have found discounts on Groupon, but Oikawa would like to pretend for a little while.

Oikawa returned from the buffet table with a two lobsters, some grilled salmon, and a small plate of ravioli (which he had difficulty pronouncing, to Iwaizumi’s delight). Holding up his glass of red wine, he said, “Cheers!”

Oikawa swirled the wine in the glass counter-clockwise, watching the liquid swish around. Iwaizumi cleared his throat.

“So. What do you think of our first month?” Oikawa put his wine glass down to pick up his lobster.

Iwaizumi started cutting his piece of steak. He replied, a smile hanging low on his lips,  “I’m really happy.”

●

It’s unbearably hot. Iwaizumi’s faced with the dilemma of pulling the curtains shut to block out the afternoon sun, or leaving them drawn open for ventilation. Beside his laptop he had two cans of Coke: one of them already emptied and far at the side, and the other freshly opened, standing in a pool of cold water.

He heard Oikawa pad toward the refrigerator, opening the freezer to pull out a half-eaten pint of strawberry ice cream.

“What are you doing?” He asked, passing behind Iwaizumi and peering close at his screen. His eyes narrowed at the headings and the tiny words that looked like ants on his screen.

“You’re finding a job? Like a real job?” He meted out the words slowly, trying to internalize whatever all this meant.

Iwaizumi’s thumb shifted over the keyboard, and he replied, “Yeah. I mean, you have to be thinking about it too right? We’ve just graduated and we’ve got to get a job soon. Can’t keep bumming around in this apartment forever, you know.

“And Tokyo is nice. I like it,” he added.

“Ok ok, I’ll stop bumming around soon. Keyword being _soon_ ,” Oikawa waved his spoon at Iwaizumi, then retreated into the living room and plopped onto the sofa, where he sat in front of the television silently.

●

“Didn’t think you’d be back here so soon,” Kuroo crossed his arms over his chest in a self-satisfied grin.

“Well,” Iwaizumi shrugged, “You’re here too.”

Kenma took a sip of his fruit cocktail, humming an appreciative “Touché”.

“Kenma, I’m so ready to beat you at another round of cards,” Oikawa challenged, resting an elbow on the bar counter.

“Cards?” Kenma reached over to pat down the front of Kuroo’s black bomber jacket.

“Whoa whoa, hold it Kenma. You’re turning me on,” Kuroo yelped in surprise, a blush quickly blooming up his neck. Or, it could have just been the rose pink lighting.

“Ew,” Iwaizumi frowned.

“He didn’t bring his cards today,” Kenma replied.

From the overhead speakers came a low rumble, “We’re gonna take it nice and _slooow_.” The electropop faded into smooth 50’s jazz, sounding crisp and clear as if it was being played live. The neon pink glow slowly blended into neon blue, bathing them in a new light.

“Come on Kenma, let’s dance,” Kuroo hopped off his barstool and dragged Kenma to the dance floor, joining the multitude of couples already dancing.

Iwaizumi spun around and leaned his back against the counter, the beer mug held between his hands. He watched Kenma slip his hand into Kuroo’s, and followed Kuroo’s hand as he curled around Kenma’s waist and found itself at the dip of Kenma’s spine. They swayed along to the music, seemingly oblivious to the world around them. He saw the way Kenma looked at Kuroo, and the way Kuroo returned the same look like a mirror. Inside, Iwaizumi grew in admiration and envy.

Beside him, Oikawa sighed into his drink. “I want to have that someday…” he trailed off, distracted.

Iwaizumi chuckled, swivelling his body around to place the mug on the counter, “Come on, Oikawa. Let’s dance.”

Oikawa looked up at Iwaizumi, eyes incredibly large, “What?”

Iwaizumi held a hand out, “I’ll humor you just this once. Hurry up.”

Almost immediately something flashed in Oikawa’s eyes as he registered something. His eyebrows furrowed and his expression changed entirely, “You’ll humor me?” Oikawa sounded hurt, his face washed over with blue hue. “This isn’t a joke, Iwaizumi. At least not to me.”

He downed the rest of his beer, swallowing it forcefully down his throat. “I’m feeling tired, Iwa-chan. I’m going back to the apartment,” he continued, voice strained.

With that, he slipped on his coat and walked out the door without so much as a goodbye.

●

It was a while before Iwaizumi regained control of his head, mind still swimming in confusing thoughts. He willed his feet to move, even using his hand to physically punch one of his thighs. He had no idea what had just happened, or why Oikawa had so quickly stood up and left. Did he say something wrong?

He slapped some money onto the table — Oikawa hadn’t paid for his drink — then dashed out of the bar and up the tiny staircase to street level. He looked to his left, then to his right, anxiety growing exponentially. There — the navy coat far into the background.

He weaved in and out of the crowd, eyes solely focused on catching up to Oikawa no matter what it took. Oikawa turned into the alley on the right and Iwaizumi followed until he was in the alley himself, trailing not too far behind him.

“What’s your problem, Oikawa?” Iwaizumi shouted to cover the remaining distance between them. He knew Oikawa could hear him, judging from the way the paused mid-step. Iwaizumi used this time to catch up. Forcefully, he grabbed Oikawa’s forearm and spun him around so that they were now facing each other.

Oikawa’s eyes were red and his cheeks were puffy. He grit his teeth and wrestled his arm out of Iwaizumi’s grip. His voice was choked, “I said I’m just tired.” He sounded sad, angry, and defeated at the same time.

Iwaizumi’s hand fell limp at his side. He brought a hand to scrub over his face, his calloused skin smoothing over the creases on his forehead. He was trying to understand all of this. He had seen Oikawa lose it a multitude of times, but never like this.

“We’re best friends, aren’t we?” He fisted a hand in Oikawa’s shirt, pulling him close, because Oikawa being angry _at him_ made him angry as well. “This means I tell you everything, and you tell me everything. This is a two-way street.”

“A two-way street,” Oikawa parroted. His expression darkened, and he held his abdomen as he coughed out a bitter laugh, “How I wish it all was!”

“What’s so funny, Assikawa,” Iwaizumi grit out.

“This entire conversation. Us,” Oikawa heaved, his chest collapsing. “Haven’t you realized by now, Iwa-chan? I’m in love with you. Nothing about this is a two-way street.”

Iwaizumi felt something get stuck in his throat. His mouth was open, but still he found it hard to breathe. He clenched and unclenched his fists, wanting to make the situation better but not knowing how.

Oikawa slowly backed away from Iwaizumi.

“Since when,” Iwaizumi couldn’t even recognize his own voice.

Oikawa was already walking away when he replied, shouting over his shoulder, “What does it matter?”

●

Iwaizumi knew what drowning felt like, and it felt like this: the swelling of his lungs till it filled his entire chest cavity, the heaviness in his limbs like they were bogged down in thick mud. He’s dizzy and he’s overwhelmed. His hands have gone clammy.

The walk back to the apartment was deliberately slow. As much as he’d like to use the opportunity to think things through, using his head made him twice as aggravated. At the back of his mind, Oikawa’s voice floated in like an uninvited memory: _Iwa-chan, if you think too hard when you don’t have a brain you’re going to hurt your head!_

Iwaizumi chewed on the inside of his cheek until it hurt.

When he got home the small lamp on the table next to the sofa was turned on, but Oikawa’s door was closed. The blue post-it on the dining table said, in chicken scrawl handwriting: _I don’t want to talk about it._

Iwaizumi shrugged off his jacket and hung it on the back of the dining table chair, then shuffled into his room. The mattress dipped under his weight. For a while, he just stared at the plain white wall that separated his room from Oikawa’s. He wasn’t really in the mood to brush his teeth or change into his pajamas, so he pulled off his shirt and shucked off his pants, climbing into his bed where he hoped he could stay in forever.

●

In the morning, he found another post-it on the kitchen counter:

  * _Left early for a part-time job. Won’t be back for dinner. Made you breakfast._




Iwaizumi picked up the apple next to the note and bit into it as he rolled his shoulders back. He didn’t sleep well the previous night and he could feel it in his neck. He had spent a considerable amount of time replaying Oikawa’s words in his head, his mind catching on the small, inconsequential details: how Oikawa’s profile caught in the dim light, how he looked both fragile and untouchable. How everything led back to himself.

Staying in the apartment amplified his misery, so Iwaizumi decided to shower, change into some decent clothing and head out.

●

When he returned in the evening, the apartment was strangely bereft. The lights were turned off and the room smelt stale, even though in actuality it had only been a few hours since he was last there. He called out for Oikawa, but he was met with stark silence and the echo of his own voice reverberating off the walls. He checked around for a post-it note or a text message, but he came up with nothing.

 

 **Iwaizumi (8:40 P.M.)** : What time are you coming home?

 **Iwaizumi (9:17 P.M.)** : Hello??

 **Iwaizumi (9:32 P.M.)** : I know you’re reading these, Shittykawa. Reply my messages.

Oikawa was avoiding him with obstinate single-mindedness. Iwaizumi threw his phone to the other corner of the sofa, slumping in his seat as he watched the clock hanging above the television.

It was nearing 11 when Iwaizumi started growing worried. What if Oikawa hated him so much now that he just decided to uproot himself and walk out of his life? He started pacing around the living room and it dawned upon him then:

The blue post-it about Iwaizumi’s breakfast banana was still on the refrigerator door — it never occurred to him to take it down. The crappy, slowly disintegrating cardboard box was still sitting on the balcony, white vinyl lounge chair pointing in the same direction Oikawa was sitting just the other day. On the arm of the sofa Oikawa had draped a pair of jeans for almost a week now.

There were bits and pieces of Oikawa in every nook and cranny; Oikawa had fit in so seamlessly into his life that he couldn’t imagine life without him.

When he turned on the radio for some noise — any noise, out came blaring the exact same song Oikawa had used as an alarm clock ringtone. The same bass thumping song with insane drums. And then it struck him, as spontaneously as a match catching fire, that this was the duet they had sung at their high school club farewell party. He remembered Oikawa distastefully screaming into the microphone as he pumped his fist in the air, the rush he felt when Oikawa’s fingers ran across his skin then, hot enough to leave imprints.

He needed to find Oikawa, or at least find someone that could understand all of this. He contemplated messaging Hanamaki or Matsukawa, but put the thought aside when he realized he wasn’t in the mood to explain everything over the phone.

Picking up his keys and his jacket, he dashed out of the apartment and towards the next best place he could go to. Stepping down the tiny staircase and into the neon pink night club, he suddenly decided that this was all a bad idea. Maybe he should have thought things through.

He’s caught in a mess of limbs and questionable smelling smoke when he heard, “Iwaizumi?”

Iwaizumi turned around to find Kuroo’s face in a frown. Kuroo put it mildly, “You look like shit.”

“Where’s Kenma?” Iwaizumi first thought to ask, noticing that Kuroo was strangely alone tonight.

Kuroo chuckled, “He’s got an 8 a.m. class tomorrow morning. Poor kid.”

Iwaizumi felt somebody grope his ass, then remembered he was standing in the middle of a drunk, dancing crowd. “I need to talk to you about something. But can we not do it here?”

●

“Why are we in the bathroom,” Kuroo scrunched his face up as he eyed the gross looking urinal.

“Because this is the only place quiet enough where I don’t have to shout to maintain a conversation,” Iwaizumi sighed.

“Right, so. As you were saying?”

Iwaizumi pursed his lips, trying to find the words, “Oikawa told me he’s in love with me.”

“I knew it,” Kuroo cackled, “Kenma was right!”

Iwaizumi grunted, “And ever since last night he’s been avoiding me and I don’t know what to do and—”

“Now now, I believe the more pressing question is: Do you love him?”

Iwaizumi felt his heart clench in his chest. He cared, sometimes too much for his own good. Unsteadily, like a child taking his first steps, he replied, “... I do.”

Kuroo placed his hand on Iwaizumi’s shoulder, his touch warm and reassuring, “It will work out. If I know how rom coms right, Oikawa will come back to you.”

Iwaizumi shifted his weight on his feet. “When did you realize you were in love with Kenma?”

Kuroo ran his fingers through his hair. “When I left for college, and he had to stay behind.”

“And how has it been? Since then,” Iwaizumi probed.

“Perfect,” Kuroo replied instantaneously. From his smile, Iwaizumi felt that he could trust him.

●

It was past midnight when Iwaizumi pushed his way out of the club, the breeze brushing past his cheek like cold, wiry hands. There was still no sign of Oikawa’s reply on his phone, and he figured that it would be too hopeful if he assumed Oikawa went back home.

Walking back to the apartment, he decided to take the tree-lined alley, even though the lighting was poor and he could possibly get mugged. Something called out to him then, he didn’t know what.

He was halfway through the park, feet slapping the titled stones, when he spotted a familiar figure seated on a low brick wall, which came up to a little under his knees.

He took a seat next to Oikawa, hands interlocked as he rested his elbows on his knees. He eyed the two cups of frappucino next to Oikawa’s feet.

“Hey,” he breathed out, voice hoarse.

Oikawa stayed silent.

“Remember first year in college?” Oikawa suddenly spoke, his voice soft even in the silence. “When my knee got bad and they told me I could never play competitively again?”

Iwaizumi nodded.

Oikawa turned to look at Iwaizumi now, eyes glassy, like he had trouble focusing on anything, “I made you continue playing, and you did. But I felt so alone, like I was being left behind.”

“I know,” Iwaizumi ran a hand down his thigh, wiping his sweaty palm on his pants.

“And I should have known that it was going to happen again. And again. You’re going to find a job somewhere far, far away. And start a family. I thought I could make you stay with me forever, and I tried, even, but I guess I was too optimistic.

“I’m sorry for holding you back from better things,” Oikawa finished.

At his words, Iwaizumi seethed, “Holding me back?”

Oikawa choked on an inhale.

Iwaizumi took a deep breath, “I’m the one who’s sorry.”

To Oikawa it sounded like a rejection, and he started to tear. He rubbed his eyes roughly with the back of his hand.

“I’m sorry I made you think like that, because I never _ever_ considered leaving you behind,” Iwaizumi’s words were firm.

“We said we’d be together forever when we were seven, remember? No matter what. It’s too late to go back on your word now, Shittykawa.”

Iwaizumi turned his head to the side to find Oikawa already staring at him and registered the close proximity of their faces with a deep inhale. His heart told him to give in and he did. He leaned closer and pressed his lips against Oikawa’s, and Oikawa’s body tensed up for a second before he melted into the warmth of Iwaizumi’s strong arms around his waist.

Pulling apart, Iwaizumi panted, feeling like the warmth in his breath alone was sufficient to create white puffs of mist in the air between them. He pressed his forehead against Oikawa’s, mouthing against Oikawa’s skin, “I love you.”

Then, Oikawa choked, and he started to cry.

“Please don’t cry,” Iwaizumi used his thumb to wipe away the stray tears on Oikawa’s cheek, “People might think I’m bullying you.”

Oikawa took a long inhale to suck in his snot, “But you always bully me, Iwa-chan.”

●

“I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep tonight,” Oikawa complained as they walked through the front door. “I had three cups of coffee today. God bless my kidneys.”

His face was still red, but at least now he was smiling.

“I’ll stay up with you,” Iwaizumi plopped next to Oikawa on the sofa. Oikawa leaned his head on Iwaizumi’s shoulder.

Iwaizumi picked up the television remote.

A documentary on the manufacture of slippers. “Nope.”

A long-running TV drama. “Nope.”

He settled on MTV, which was the least headache-inducing option. They were having a 1950s jazz marathon until 7 a.m.

Oikawa toyed absently with the hem of Iwaizumi’s shirt, occasionally brushing his fingers against the bare skin, as if he really wanted Iwaizumi to unravel under his touch.

Iwaizumi stood up and held out a hand, the dreamy music wafting through the air, “Dance with me, Oikawa. For real this time.”

Oikawa blinked. He let Iwaizumi pull him up and draw him close, so that their hips were touching. Iwaizumi ran a hand along his side and it tickled, but Oikawa pushed himself closer. Iwaizumi leaned up to whisper into his ear, voice warm like hot chocolate, “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

Again, Oikawa leaned over to kiss Iwaizumi, mouth hot and inviting. Iwaizumi pressed back earnestly, hands finding its way to Oikawa’s belt. Oikawa rubbed a hand over the growing bulge in front of Iwaizumi’s pants, eliciting a violent groan and the part of their lips.

“Bed,” Iwaizumi grunted, eyes cloudy and filled with want.

They stumbled into Iwaizumi’s bedroom, shirts lost along the way until they land on his mattress. Oikawa was quickly undoing his belt when Iwaizumi placed a hand on his chest, his other hand holding down Oikawa’s hand. The slow jazz was still playing in the background and he could hear it from his room if he strained his ears enough.

“Wait,” Iwaizumi pressed his weight onto Oikawa, the friction between their pants making him feel like he was burning. “Let’s take it slow.”

He cupped Oikawa’s cheek with his hand, feeling the goosebumps on Oikawa’s skin rise, “I want to show you… how much I love you.” After the words left his lips, his face grew hot with embarrassment. Under him, Oikawa rolled his hips.

He pressed kisses down Oikawa’s neck and torso, feeling his resolve crumble with every breathy moan that left Oikawa’s lips. Slowly, he unbuckled Oikawa’s pants and pulled them off swiftly, bringing a hand to softly caress the front of his boxer briefs, already damp.

Oikawa, seeing through half-lidded eyes, tried to reach for Iwaizumi’s zipper, but his hand was promptly slapped away.

Iwaizumi pulled down Oikawa’s briefs and licked a long stripe up his cock, tongue circling around the tip at a frustrating pace that left Oikawa writhing under him.

“Iwa-chan, pants off,” Oikawa heaved, his hands gripping Iwaizumi’s sheets, knuckles turning white.

His pants were growing obscenely tight, and he decided that that was a good idea. Quickly, he shucked off his pants, and Oikawa, slightly disgruntled, whined, “You did it so fast, I didn’t get to enjoy the view!”

Iwaizumi licked the shell of Oikawa’s ear, whispering, “Next time.”

He closed his mouth over Oikawa’s cock, hands slowly kneading his thighs.

Oikawa’s head was tilted back, mouth grit in frustration, “Iwa-chan, I—”

And then Iwaizumi took his mouth off him, leaving him cold and empty and _angry_.

Iwaizumi crawled up so that he was hovering over Oikawa now, “Patience.”

He pressed an open mouth against Oikawa’s, eyes squeezed tight as he tried to commit everything to memory. The fit of Oikawa’s body against his own, the feeling of being on fire. The ragged swell of his lungs and the angry palpitations of his heart against his rib cage.

“How did you get so good at this,” Oikawa teased, then scrunched his brows together, “Did you—”

“No, I’ve never,” Iwaizumi replied honestly, suddenly losing all the confidence he had ten seconds ago. “I was curious, and the Internet was convenient.”

Oikawa laughed into Iwaizumi’s shoulder, “You’re really something, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi climbed off Oikawa and crouched down next to his open suitcase and he tried to find something. “Matsukawa told me to pack this, and I insisted that he was being optimistic.”

Oikawa propped himself up on his elbow, tracing the curves of Iwaizumi’s back that were illuminated by the moonlight.

Iwaizumi, eventually, managed to find what he was looking for in the dark, and held out a bottle of lube in front of him, “I guess I should thank him.”

Oikawa’s cock was still throbbing from the lack of contact. “Maybe later, Iwa-chan. Please.”

Fingers coated with a copious amount of lube, Iwaizumi slipped a finger into Oikawa, feeling a new kind of warmth envelope him. He waited for Oikawa’s shoulders to slack before he continued.

He held Oikawa’s hand with his other, thrusting into Oikawa painfully slow. Oikawa curled his toes, then released all the pent up tension bit by bit, breathing heavily. His fingers were wrapped around Iwaizumi’s forearm — demanding, petulant, and unapologetic.

Then, a second finger. Iwaizumi released a deep groan.

Oikawa was close, his hands helplessly clawing at Iwaizumi’s back. Iwaizumi withdrew his fingers, and Oikawa almost shouted.

“Fucking hell,” Oikawa seethed, scratching Iwaizumi’s back with his nails.

Slowly, Iwaizumi pushed into Oikawa as he peppered kisses along his collarbone, making sure to suck every time he rolled his hips down. Looking down at Oikawa, hair disheveled and positively wrecked, he said, brutally honest, “You are so beautiful.”

Oikawa threw his head to the side, avoiding any sort of eye contact.

When Iwaizumi thrusted up and against his prostate, Oikawa let out a long groan, almost as if he was going to cry.

The music in his head (or, from the TV in the living room) built up to a crescendo. The swelling of his heart was too much to contain. Oikawa came with a shout, nails sinking into Iwaizumi’s skin as he held on for his life.

Iwaizumi continued to thrust through his orgasm, watching Oikawa crumble under his touch until he came. His limbs grew heavy and he fell to the side, exhausted. Oikawa reached out to draw him close, kissing him again, and again, and again.

“I love you,” Iwaizumi whispered like a prayer, the words sounding precious no matter how many times he repeated it.

Oikawa felt the need to point out, “I love you first.”

“Love is not a competition, dumbass,” Iwaizumi smirked, tangling their legs together as he pulled the sheets over them.

Oikawa pouted, then playfully punched at Iwaizumi’s gut.

●

In the morning, he woke up to find the two of them swathed in his sheets, wrapped around them like a cocoon. The bed was a bit small to fit two fully grown men, but the press of Oikawa’s body made it nice and cozy. When he shifted slightly he could feel his sticky thighs and it was gross, but not disgusting enough for him to want to get out of bed.

Oikawa was nestled on his chest. He spotted a patch on his chest and reached forward to touch it. What he thought was dried cum turned out to be Oikawa’s dried saliva. Great.

His phone was vibrating on his bedside dresser, but he figured it could wait.

Oikawa came to around half an hour later, greeting him with a bleary, “Morning, Iwa-chan.”

He reached over to run a hand through Oikawa’s hair, then frowned when he saw his arms, red and bruised.

“What the fuck.”

“It was your fault,” Oikawa had the audacity to giggle.

They sat up, comforter pooled around their torsos. Iwaizumi picked up his phone on the dresser, which had been buzzing continuously for over forty minutes.

_( **Matsukawa** sent an image.)_

**Matsukawa (9:45 A.M.)** : look what we caught

 **Matsukawa (9:46 A.M.)** : hell yeah catch of the day

 **Hanamaki (9:46 A.M.)** : we’re gonna have a bbq without you guys

 **Hanamaki (9:47 A.M.)** : that’s for not taking us to tokyo with you

**Matsukawa (9:53 A.M.)** : hello????

 **Hanamaki (9:55 A.M.)** : mattsun’s desperate for some praise guys

 **Hanamaki (9:56 A.M.)** : look at how huge that fish is

 **Kindaichi (10:01 A.M.)** : Congrats! Nice fish

 **Matsukawa (10:02 A.M.)** : not you kindaichi

**Matsukawa (10:15 A.M.)** : don’t tell me you guys are still asleep

 **Kunimi (10:16 A.M.)** : just give up

 **Matsukawa (10:16 A.M.)** : NEVER

“Matsukawa and Hanamaki went fishing,” Iwaizumi stated, staring at the picture on his screen.

Oikawa swiped the phone out of his grip and held it above them.

“Say cheese, Iwa-chan!”

_( **Iwaizumi** sent an image.)_

**Iwaizumi (10:38 A.M.)** : catch of the day indeed

 **Kunimi (10:40 A.M.)** : holy fuck

 **Kindaichi (10:40 A.M.)** : TMI

 **Matsukawa (10:41 A.M.)** : fuck

 **Hanamaki (10:42 A.M.)** : quick mattsun take off your shirt

**Author's Note:**

> some fun things:  
> \- I am the new trash king ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)  
> \- I hope it wasn't painfully obvious that this was the first time I wrote... porn. I DONT EVEN KNOW THE ANATOMY OF A COCK.  
> \- The address at the beginning is made up, but 2-chome is really the gay district. I know, because I accidentally stayed there once. The alley is a real alley, and you can see images of it here: [south](https://www.google.com.sg/maps/@35.6931094,139.7035287,3a,74.7y,51.42h,82.3t/data=!3m6!1e1!3m4!1s922alJj_4ow2STKzcHFwQw!2e0!7i13312!8i6656), [middle](https://www.google.com.sg/maps/@35.6937902,139.7042032,3a,75y,191.26h,77.67t/data=!3m6!1e1!3m4!1s3BVQXnhn_3gLh8zgUTGSHw!2e0!7i13312!8i6656), [north](https://www.google.com.sg/maps/@35.6948375,139.705443,3a,75y,255.41h,77.13t/data=!3m6!1e1!3m4!1slr1iRmsf1kKsgxOnSVWcqA!2e0!7i13312!8i6656).  
> \- In my head, they danced to this [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4UX6tzE7P44).  
> \- Cry with me on tumblr @ plaire.


End file.
